


Many Faces, One Heart

by basidiomycota18



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, BAMF Prompto Argentum, Gen, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prince Prompto Argentum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 10:05:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15531879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basidiomycota18/pseuds/basidiomycota18
Summary: Tristis Besithia. Novus Aldercapt. Prompto Argentum. Three names, three lives, one soul.Little Tristis has a long way to go before he becomes best friends with the prince of Lucis. For now, his most important concern is whether or not he should wear his boots.





	Many Faces, One Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Final Fantasy XV or its characters.  
> This work is not beta read. Tags subject to change.

The slick marble floors in the Oracle's palace made little Tristis Besithia's heart slip-slide in his chest the way his stocking clad feet were slip-sliding across the floor. The tight tingling in his chest bubbled up and out of his mouth in a screeching laugh, and he tripped and glided across the white marble.

Behind him, his mother sighed and picked up his boots. They were his favorite: soft and velvety. They were also the only boots he owned that didn't pinch his toes when he ran. Mother would keep them safe for him. He turned to beam and thank her when the whooshing air of a door opening brushed past him and he fell backward into soft silk skirts.

Tristis immediately buried his face in the soft fabric and gathered as much of the excess material as his pudgy fingers could hold. It was so soft! So flowy! Then a voice, like his mother's but scary, spoke from above him. “Where are his shoes?”

Mother laughed, soft and warm and familiar. “They were in his way.” Of course they were. Mother understood that sometimes shoes just shouldn't be there. Mother was the best.

Tristis felt his mother's hands, smooth but strong, slip under his arms and lift him out of the skirts and onto her hip. He nuzzled his nose into her neck, breathing in the comforting scent of lavender and vanilla.

“You spoil him,” said the scary voice. Tristis peeked out from the safety of his mother's arms to see whose voice it was. The lady, who was wearing that soft, wonderful silk skirt, looked just like she sounded: like Mother, but scary. Like a too tight knot. Still, she reached out and ruffled his hair with careful fingers. Tristis giggled and graced her with a small, shy smile. Her cold eyes softened slightly in response. “Perhaps he would enjoy playing with Ravus and Lunafreya while we discuss... adult matters.”

Mother's arms tightened around Tristis for a moment. She usually only did that when Father came to see him. Was Father here? Tristis glanced around, but the room was empty except for Mother and the scary lady and... well, now that he was paying attention, there were two other children, a few years older than Tristis, standing behind the scary lady. They were quiet and still and white, like the statues lining the sides of the room.

“What do you think, Tristis?” Mother asked. “Would you like to play with your cousins?” She angled her body so he could see them better. They didn't look like they wanted to play with him, but maybe they were just trying to look scary like their mother.

Decision made, Tristis nodded imperiously. “Boots!”

“Yes,” Mother said, tugging lightly at his feet. “You'll need to put your boots back on.”

***

Luna and Ravus were very nice cousins, if a little cold and distant. They took Tristis out to play in a field of midnight blue sylleblossoms. Tristis loved how the silky petals felt when he rubbed them gently between his fingers and how if he lay on his back he disappeared completely into the tall swaying grass.

“Do you think this means Niflheim is planning to invade us?” Luna asked Ravus. Her fingers were nimbly weaving sylleblossoms into a luscious chain. The movement reminded him of how Mother's fingers danced when she sewed pretty thread pictures.

“How should I know?” Ravus snapped a blade of grass in two with more force than necessary. “Tristis is the Nif. Ask him.”

Luna nodded solemnly and looked down at Tristis. “Do you think Niflheim is planning to invade us, cousin?”

Tristis sniffed in disdain. What was with these children, calling him things like Nif and cousin? “M'name is Tristis.”

Luna froze for a second, and a small smile warmed her features. “Oh, sorry. Tristan, right?”

“No, m'name is Tristis!”

“Tristo?”

“No, m'name is Tristis!”

“Trista?”

Tristis sat up sharply, cheeks puffed out in a trembling pout. “No, m'name is Tristis!”

Luna laughed and with a deft twist of her fingers turned the sylleblossom chain into a wreath and nestled it on Tristis' wispy blonde hair. “Tristis.”

Tristis shrieked a delighted laugh and patted the flower crown, affront forgotten. Luna smiled quietly. Ravus glanced between her and Tristis, sighed, and scooped up another ladybug for Tristis to play with.

***

The next day, Tristis had to say goodbye to his new friends and go home with Mother. He hated the train with its loud rumbling and black smoky trail. He hated the sand that caught in his hair and made his skin itchy. He hated how the floors of his home were too rough to slide on. He hated that the flowers that grew in the sand had little spines that broke off in his hands when he tried to pick them.

“Can we go back?” he asked Mother through snotty sniffles as she plucked the spines from his red, stinging hands one by one.

“One day,” she said, and kissed the top of his head. “I promise.”

***

One night, Tristis woke from dreams full of soft skirts and dark blue petals to the sound of rustling fabric and quick breathing. “Mother?”

Mother's soft hand immediately folded over his mouth. “Hush dear. Everyone is asleep.”

Tristis wiggled out from under her hand and squinted into the darkness. He could barely make out his mother's form, clothed in dark robes that seemed to absorb the faint moonlight. She was stuffing a small bag with his clothes and, if he looked closely, his favorite chocobo plushy. He huffed and stumbled out of bed.

“Put your boots on,” Mother said. “We're going to visit your cousins. Isn't that exciting?” Her smile was stiff, and her eyes kept darting between the window and the door.

“But 'm sleeping,” Tristis mumbled through a yawn. He plopped onto the floor and stuffed his feet into his boots.

Mother pressed her lips to Tristis' head for a moment before scooping him and the bag into her arms. He sagged into the warmth of her embrace and closed his eyes.

Later on, Tristis could only remember fragments of that night. His mother's slippers whispering across the stone floors. Muffled shouts. The metal whine of magitek guards. A sharp boom so loud Tristis screamed from the pain to his ears.

Mostly, though, he remembered watching red bloom across his mother's white dress like an unfurling rose as his father, hands still smeared with gunpowder, carried him away.

***

Sometimes Tristis could see well enough to watch the viscous black fluid drip through his IV into his arm—when he had an arm, that is. Sometimes he was missing one or both.

He measured the passing of time by when his father came in with syringes full of glowing purple light. Father stabbed the needle so deep in his chest it felt like it pierced his heart. His whole body arched, curled away. He could feel screams vibrating through his jawbone, even though he couldn't always hear them.

Sometimes Tristis didn't have ears either.

When he did have his ears, he heard the people in white masks whisper about “extracting divinity” and “reforging the ring.” He didn't think he was supposed to hear that.

On one of Tristis' more lucid days, a new man came to visit. He was tall and brightly colored and smelled like flowers.

“Hello, child.” A wide smile stretched across the bright man's face. “How are we today?”

Tristis couldn't answer. He didn't have a tongue that day.

“Too bad.” The man's voice was thick and sweet like honey. “I have such big plans for you. Are you ready for your confinement to end?”

Tristis sighed softly and let his eyes drift shut. Maybe he could sleep and the man would be gone.

For a moment, there was blissful silence. Then the man spoke again, and his tone dripped with demon blood instead. “I see. We'll do it your way.”

The people in white masks came in again. They didn't put in any of the drips that made Tristis' senses go hazy or his memories fly away. They just cut long, steady gashes through his torso and sewed his organs with thin steel threads.

Tristis learned two things that day. One, he no longer had blood. His veins ran with the viscous black fluid from the IV drip instead. Two, he no longer had a heart. In its place was a smooth metal orb.

That day, Tristis died, and only his memories lived on.

 


End file.
